


Bumblebees Are Out

by theplanetmarz



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Assassination, Blood, Fireworks, Forgetful Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Ghost Wilbur Soot, Ghosts, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Murder, Ranboo Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Regret
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:48:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29147730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theplanetmarz/pseuds/theplanetmarz
Summary: "Ranboo?" Quackity's voice echoes from somewhere above.Ranboo shudders, finally sitting back up, resting on his legs and knees. There's a tight grip around his body, as his arms hug around his torso.His lips crackle open, only a whisper escaping, "Quackity...he's...he's dead."
Relationships: its all platonic babey!
Comments: 8
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> takes place 2 days after tommy is exiled from l'manberg

“Good morning!” Niki’s voice flutters through the air, greeting Ranboo as they pass by each other. He waves back, taking the opportunity to stretch his arms out and yawn. 

The breeze of crisp air chills his lungs, but the sun helps warm him again. Ranboo shuffles through his pockets, discovering a few sticks and some stone. He wanders to a crafting table, set lazily against a fence post. 

“Morning.” a voice greets as Ranboo fastens the stone and sticks in a crescent shape. Over his shoulder, stands Quackity, twirling an empty potion bottle between his fingers mindlessly. 

Ranboo squishes his pickaxe together, and spins around to see his visitor. 

“Whats up?” 

Quackity groans a little, chuckling, “Not much, you seen Tubbo?” 

“Not yet, we’re starting a bee house today, so if you see him, let me know-” Ranboo is cut off abruptly.

An ear-splitting wail suddenly ruptures through the air, causing the pair to flinch in sync. 

Quackity instantly tears away, towards the source of the noise, Phil’s house, Ranboo stumbling as he follows after.

“What’s going on?” Ranboo huffs, swinging around a fence post, and onto the wooden podium-platform. 

The winged man doesn’t answer, shaking his head as a response instead. He beats Ranboo to the home, the boy stumbling up the stairs to see him crouched in the corner of the room with a shaking figure. Fundy sits against the wall, covering his muzzle, silently sobbing; choking into his hand. 

“Fundy, hey, hey, it’s okay.” Quackity hushes. 

Fundy just shakes his head, muttering a repeated “ _ no _ ” through his palm, as he grabs at the top of his head, squeezing his hat, seemingly trying to ground himself somehow. 

Ranboo looks away, noticing strange red marks on the floor. They lead to a cobblestone pillar, in front of a trapdoor. 

Apparently, this place has a basement. 

He slinks towards the poorly hidden hatch, flipping it upwards with a squeak. It’s noise is inaudible over Fundy’s open crying now, as he’s finally pried his paw away from his mouth. 

Ranboo silently lowers himself down the ladder, into the void below. 

Jet black surrounds the boy, his only notion of up and down, the tiny strips of light leaking from the holes in the trap door above, and a distant, flickering torch light somewhere deep below. 

The wooden ladder only lightly creaks; it’s new, cool sanded wood hardly scraping against Ranboo’s palms. 

The air is silent, still, Ranboo’s trembling breath his only company. But he swears he can hear dripping, a trickle of something. The darkness recedes as he nears the end of the descent, the tips of his toes finally meeting a slick marble floor. 

Met with a wall, and a gleam from around it’s corner, he creeps out into the center of the basement. 

Scarlet decorates the wall in a blasted star-like design, dribbling and shiny, stark against the pristine white of the surroundings. The tiny room reeks of copper, or a metal that smells like it at least. The ground is littered with a couple of crumpled and burnt fireworks, detonated against the wall, judging by the black soot marks etched into the quartz. 

The painting on the wall almost seems like a twisted halo for the body that slumped against it. 

The body of a dead teenage boy, with a mangled firework lodged in his chest. 

_ This isn’t real. There’s no way.  _

Ranboo stands, frozen by the sight before him. 

He can’t seem to stop the gurgle that forms in his throat, and escapes as a throat shredding scream, and he can’t seem to stop his hands from grabbing underneath his eyes, tugging in disbelief. 

His knees shudder, failing him, as his body succumbs to the dread, letting himself fall forwards onto his hands. Kneeling there, Ranboo manages to shutter his jaw closed, stopping the flow of spit and rising vomit from dripping out of his lips. His tears however, freely leak into the blood on the ground, interjection with tiny  _ drip drops _ between his heavy heaving breaths. 

"Ranboo?" Quackity's voice echoes from somewhere above. 

Ranboo shudders, finally sitting back up, resting on his legs and knees. There's a tight grip around his body, as his arms hug around his torso. 

His lips crackle open, only a whisper escaping, "Quackity...he's...he's  _ dead _ ." 

"Oh my god…" A breathless mutter and squeaking shoes rise in sound behind Ranboo, his counterpart arriving at the scene. A hand gently rests on the kneeling boy's shoulder. 

Ranboo tilts his head to look up, seeing Quackity's red, wide-eyed face, tear streaks already staining his cheeks, a hand covering his mouth. 

The scene seems to pulse as Ranboo stares back up again. 

_ It's all too fresh.  _

The fireworks emanating warmth, the blood across the floors and walls still a fairly ruby shade or red; bright, the boy's hair barely tacky to see, the blood hadn't clotted and stuck it together yet. 

"Ranboo," Quackity speaks, "We- Let's- we need to go tell everyone." 

Ranboo shakes his head, while Quackity guides him to his feet, towards the ladder. 

All he can do is mutter under his breath, _ "This can't be real."  _

_ Tubbo is dead.  _


	2. Chapter 2

The table meeting is silent. 

Ranboo glances around, surveying the grey faces of Fundy and Quackity. 

The door swings open with a shrill squeak, Phil and Niki have arrived. 

"I cleaned it up," Phils voice is surprisingly solid as he and Niki join the trio in their seats, "He's tucked into a guest bed in my attic. I couldn't bring myself to just leave him." 

"Thank you Phil." Ranboo is the first to speak, followed by Fundy, Niki and Quackity joining in their thanks.

"So, where do we go from here?" 

Quackity sighs, "Well, being the vice, presidency transfers over to me. As for him, I say we have a funeral. We should try to get Ghostbur and see if we can get his ghost to appear, he might be able to tell us who did this to him." 

"What if he doesn't show up? Or what if he can't remember?" Fundy chimes in.

"Then we go to Dream." 

" _ What?"  _ Phil and Fundy exclaim in tandem, Niki giving a little huff or disapproval at Quackity's proposal, Ranboo staying silent. 

"He watches  _ everything  _ around here. He probably saw something, he’s always in the shadows. Plus, he’s got the log." 

"As if he'll work with us," Fundy scoffs, "And it's pretty obvious who killed him already. Who killed him twice before with a rocket launcher? Who hates the government?" 

"Techno wouldn't take a child's last life _ , Fundy." _ Phil spat, tapping his fingers against the table. 

"Oh, yeah, sorry, I forgot you're a fucking traitor." 

"Just because I want a better investigation into this doesn't make me traitor!" 

"No, but working with the guy who helped blow up our home does! Hell, he was in your basement! For all we know,  _ you _ killed him!" 

" _ That's enough!"  _ Niki slams her fist on the table, yelling across the table. 

The room hushes. 

"It doesn't matter who Phil talks to, and yes, we need to figure out who killed Tubbo, but we need to focus on a burial first." 

The table mutters, nods and quiet agreements hovering in the air. 

"We should try to get Tommy." Ranboo tussles his hair, staring at the table before him, hoping no one was staring. 

"Do you think Dream will allow that?" Quackity asks, "I mean, he's exiled for a reason, we can't risk war, especially now." 

"It's a day, not even, for an hour, for the funeral. We can have him show up, pay respects, and then we can exile him again." 

Quackity hums, flapping his wings a tiny bit, before nodding. 

A creak breaks through the room, everyone snaps their attention to the doorway. 

"What's going on in here?"  _ Dream _ . 

"Tubbo is dead." Niki hisses, crossing her arms as she stands to face the masked man before her. 

Dream stands silently. 

He tilts his head, shoulders bouncing with a tiny shrug, his tone is mocking, unconvinced, " _ Really? _ " 

"You of all people should know, you’ve got the logs, and you’re suspect number two.” Fundy lazily points his finger, rolling his eyes to add onto his attitude. Quackity elbows him, he curls over, gripping his side, and shooting Niki a weak smile. 

“No one’s a suspect. He’s in Phil’s attic room right now, we’re discussing funeral plans.” 

“Oh, that’s... _ unfortunate _ ,” Dream’s tone is unreadable, he speaks in fact, rather than feeling, but something sly still seeps between the sullen cracks of his words, “How can I help?” 

Another round of silence befalls the crowd. Everyone’s expressions match, wide eyes, some mouths gaping. 

Phil sneers, raising his eyebrows “ _ What? _ ” 

“How can I help with the funeral?” 

“Why would you wanna help? Is there a catch?” Quackity sputters. Dream’s head shifts robotically to look in his direction. Quackity shrinks in his chair, immediately looking away. 

“Your president is dead, your nation is hurting, you’re vulnerable, the least I can do is supply something for your memorial service.” 

“Fine,” Niki reaches her hand forwards, “We’re going to need some gems for his grave. And we want Tommy to be able to attend the funeral.” 

He hesitates for a moment. The Tommy sentiment seems to have taken him aback.

“Deal.” Dream shakes Niki’s hand firmly, before spinning around.

“Wait!” Quackity blurts, his shout freezing Dream, as he turns his head, watching the group with his peripherals, “Can you show us the logs? Who killed him?” 

_The logs._

The title makes Ranboo's gut drop.

“That wasn’t part of the deal.” 

He saunters out of the room. A collective sigh of relief fills the room, mixed with grumbles of frustration. 

“So,” Fundy stands up, “Where are we burying him?” 


	3. Chapter 3

  
  


Phil rests his hand against Ranboo’s back as they near the tiny camp, pushing him along.

“I-Phil-I’m not sure about this.” 

“It’ll be okay.” 

“But, Tommy’s not-he’s won’t-” Ranboo sighs, as Phil has turned away, and the words won’t form on his tongue anyways.

Phil smiles, glancing briefly from Ranboo, to the camp. He walks forwards, Ranboo clambering after him.

He hadn’t been here for a few days. Ghostbur had built up their little “town”, Logstedshire, quite a bit in the meantime. He spys a house there now, from where he stands.

But it seemed Tommy wasn’t living in it, judging by the messy sleeping bag in the tent they pass by.

“Philza! Ranboo!” a high pitched, raspy voice cries out. Ranboo turns to see Ghostbur floating over, arms wide and open, despite the fact he cannot hug, “You came to visit!” 

“Hey Ghostbur,” Phil’s stature instantly stiffens, Ranboo watches tiny beads of sweat begin to form on his brow, “We came with some bad news.” 

“Oh?” the ghost tilts his head, before searching through his pockets quickly, “Are we going to need some blue?” 

“Ghostbur, Tubbo is dead.” 

_ “What?”  _

“We need your help to try to find his ghost.” 

Ghostbur stares, sweater-hands covering his mouth. He nods, “Okay, okay, um...how did he die?” 

“He was murdered.” 

Ghostbur echoes under his breath,  _ “He was murdered...” _

A shuffling alerts the group. 

“Wilbur! Ghostbur! Where did you put the-” Tommy’s voice falters, as he approaches, suddenly seeing the visitors. He stands back from the group, twiddling the wooden pickaxe he grips. His hair knotted and long, clothing torn and stained, dirt acting as makeup against his pale skin. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.  _ “Ranboo? Phil?” _

Ranboo waves meekly, “Hey Tommy.” 

“You guys-” the teen charges forwards, the uncertain grimace on his face morphing into a toothy grin, “You guys visited!” 

Tommy swings his arms open, embracing a hug for Phil. Before he can wrap himself around the man though, Phil puts his hand out against Tommy’s chest, preventing him from moving forwards. 

“Tommy,” Phil lowers his hand, Tommy backing away again, “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry for what, big man? Not visiting? It’s only been a couple of days, don’t worry-” 

“Something...happened, in New L’Manberg.” Tommy’s grin instantly falters, the dreary dull look from before crossing his face again. “Tubbo is- he’s no longer- he was killed yesterday.” 

The teen doesn’t react, staying frozen. A wimpy smile climbs across his face, eyes watering. “ _ What? _ ” 

“We’re investigating still, but he was murdered.”

Tommy nods, looking from Phil to Ranboo, back and forth, and then settling on Ranboo. 

The enderboy opens his mouth to offer condolences, but he’s met with Tommy’s eyes rolling back in his head.

The teen’s body crumbles, hitting the earth with a soft  _ thump _ . 

“Tommy!” Phil and Ghostbur call in unison, scrambling down to the boy’s side. 

Phil rests the back of his hand on Tommy’s forehead, the other over his chest. “He fainted.”

Ranboo stares down. Tommy looks incredibly weak, vulnerable, when he’s not conscious. But, to be fair, so does anyone. If he desired too, Ranboo could unsheathe his sword from his side, and slice the boy’s throat, cut him up, and let him die. He wouldn’t even realize it until he woke up a ghost. 

If he  _ did  _ wake up a ghost. He’d join Tubbo. 

Tubbo...

Was Tubbo awake when he met his end? Did he have the misfortune of feeling those rockets enter his skin? 

Or was he peacefully asleep, in a dream perhaps? 

“A little help?” Phil’s voice snaps Ranboo back into the present. He feels his fingers wrapped around something, and glances down to see his hand clasping the hilt of his sword. 

He blinks, chest sinking. 

_ What was he doing, thinking? He’d never actually kill Tommy. _

“We’re taking him back with us.” Phil hoists the limp boy onto his shoulder, Ranboo scrambling to assist. They carry Tommy between them, Ranboo crouching down to match Piil’s height. 

Ghostbur floats closely behind. 

  
  


Tommy’s muffled wailing keeps Ranboo up. 

His screaming from Phil’s guest room is pure torment, and the walls are thin. 

Anyone in the immediate area could hear it.

_ All night long.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments motivate me to write!! kudos are also appreciated :]

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading the first chapter! this is just your reminder that this is purely about the dsmp and there characters played there, not the real people behind them.  
> -  
> comments motivate me to write!! kudos is also appreciated


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